


Poetic Injustice

by huegone



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bad Ending, Eating Disorders, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-19 00:32:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5949304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/huegone/pseuds/huegone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where Murphy reacts differently to being tortured; dark, don't read if u don't like sad Murphy</p>
            </blockquote>





	Poetic Injustice

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place at the end of season one, if things happened differently and Murphy didn't kill anyone. This can be triggering, so read the tags. This is my first fic and I don't have a beta, you've been warned.

It started out as some kind of punishment, to atone for what he's done, a way to control his own discipline. After a while (and the discovery of a discarded scale he found in the medical tent) it became about numbers, and space; taking up less, consuming less. 

The worst part is nobody seemed to notice at first, or even care. Even on the days he didn't eat a thing, he still found himself trying to get rid of something, anything. Octavia was the first to notice, having been paying attention for other, less noble reasons. 

He was still considered a threat, and she wasn't about to let that go over some sob story, especially when he took so many people with him. While that wasn't entirely at fault, she still didn't trust him with an inch of her. 

She tried to get closer to him, to figure him out, if only to expose his motives. She tried to eat with him, but she quickly realized that he didn't. She even brought him soup once, only to be brushed off under the guise of admittedly well placed paranoia. 

"I'll prefer something with a little less rat poison, but thanks for the offer," he'd quipped. 

She could hear his stomach growling the entire time he walked in the opposite direction of the smoke house. She managed to brush it off as Murphy being a stubborn asshole, as redundant as that was, until she heard it. 

She couldn't sleep, so she made her way outside the walls. It was definitely someone getting sick, so she followed the sound. It was farther out than Bellamy would've wanted her to be from camp, but someone could need her help. 

When she saw him there, trying so hard to empty himself of nothing, she saw. She saw how small he was, how sick. He kept trying, but they both knew there was nothing to get rid of. She left him there, not knowing what to do. Neither got much sleep that night. 

He wasn't worried about anyone finding out. He knows his reputation doesn't inspire sympathy. He wouldn’t stop now, couldn’t.

Octavia asked Clarke about it, her medical opinion. 

"I'm not a psychologist, but I've heard of it, back on the ark. Usually teenage girls trying to lose weight. I'd ask him about it, but we aren't really on the best of terms right now," said Clarke, guilt written on her face.

She tried to ask Bellamy for help, but he got the same guilty look in his eyes and said something about holding a grudge; she wasn’t sure who exactly was holding it, but she left it alone. Eventually, she decided to just get it over with, and confront him. 

"I noticed you don't eat; like, ever. And you get sick a lot. I know we aren't exactly friends, but people should know if there's something going on with you. Especially down here," she reasoned. 

"Does it really matter? I’m not hurting anyone important,” he said with a dark laugh.

'That didn't go over too well,' Octavia thought as Murphy stalked off. She didn't think much of it, chalking it up to his general weirdness. 

It didn't matter that she'd noticed, nothing could stop him now. The way she said it, he knew she only cared if it affected the group. If it meant he was going to hurt someone. He knows he could, but he couldn't bring himself to, and he didn’t want revenge anymore.

He'd been warned he was Bad. His mother had told him, and he hadn't realized soon enough how right she was. She'd never loved him, no one could. There was something about him that was just wrong; he deserved the life he's had. 

Murphy never resented his mother for telling the truth. It hurt him, especially when he was old enough to understand it, but he could never hold anything in his heart for her but love. 

 

***

 

His destructive behaviors started to become more noticeable after that. He'd work nonstop during the day and never took his rations, but anyone on watch could hear him making himself sick in the woods. 

The others didn't like it, it made them feel guilty in a way they didn't understand. Bellamy completely avoided him, he knew exactly why he felt what he did. He betrayed Murphy, who trusted him blindly. He didn't know how vulnerable he was, but it was impossible to miss now. He approached him after hearing him on watch one night. 

"Murphy, you need to stop doing this to yourself. You can't survive long down here if you can't keep it together."

Murphy laughed. "Would that be such a bad thing? Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. I always am,” he said bitterly.

He said it with a smile on his face, making Bellamy feel worse. He didn't know what to say to that, so he left him there. He knew he'd done this, he'd broken him. He couldn't face it, so he didn't. 

***

It wasn't that Murphy didn't feel it. He felt it all, that was the point. He needed to. 

He would check himself every day, making sure he was actually changing. He looked as sick as he was the day his father was floated. He thought it ironic, that he was taking after his mother, bound to end up on the floor suffocated in his own vomit. And he held no hate in his heart, just betrayal. 

He would've followed Bellamy anywhere, trusted him fully. And he hurt him. He tossed the rope over that tree, and hung him like it was nothing, like he was nothing. So, he would become nothing. Or he would die trying. 

Murphy didn't end up drowning in his own sick. He decided to do what Charlotte had done. He felt a bit guilty about using the same cliff, her cliff. But he'd get over it once he'd cracked his head open on the rocks. 

It was Clarke who saw him step off, didn't get the chance to yell out before he was gone. It the least dramatic way he could've gone, knowing him. If nobody had been there to witness, he would've been thought to have run away. 

Murphy felt it very poetic, for the few seconds he could. Then, he didn't think much at all.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry about that :/ He may be garbage but he is my son and I need to stop hurting him like this


End file.
